Rogue Legacy by Jeffrey L. Kohanek (classic reads .txt) 📖

The clopping of hooves and the rumble of wheels arose from behind. Lyra and Cal moved to the side of the road, allowing the wagon to pass by. The massive hooves of the workhorses at the fore splashed through a puddle, a reminder of the rain from the prior evening. Deciding that her boots were damp enough, Lyra followed Cal around the puddle, the pair trailing behind the wagon as it drove toward the open city gate.

A glance to the top of a two-story tall wall built of grey stone blocks, revealed armed bowmen watching the traffic below. As they passed through the gate, beneath the raised portcullis, the road shifted from damp gravel to a nestled mosaic of cobblestone.

The main street ran toward the heart of the city, toward a grey castle built atop a hill overlooking the Sol Mai Ocean. The bright morning sun forced Lyra to squint as she gazed toward the bay beyond the shadowed towers of the keep. In the distance, a single ship with white sails drifted out toward the open sea.

“We have little time to waste, so we’re heading straight to the castle.” Cal turned toward her and grinned. “Have you ever met a king?”

“Um…no. Most people doubt they will ever meet one.”

Cal’s grin widened. “We’re not most people.”

His pace quickened as the street narrowed. Lyra hurried to keep up with him as he weaved among the foot traffic and vendors clogging the busy street.

“What if he won’t see you?” Lyra asked as she caught up with him. “What if he doesn’t believe you?”

Cal continued without pause, his eyes focused on the castle. “I’ll make him listen. There can be no other course.”

Lyra rolled her eyes and groaned, afraid of whatever theatrics he had in mind.

They passed a bakery and the smell of fresh bread made Lyra’s mouth water. Her stomach growled, underfed from a light breakfast that happened four hours and ten miles earlier.

Without pause, Cal led her up the stairs that graced the side of the hill, rising to meet another open gate within a smaller wall. By the time they reached the top, Lyra’s tunic was damp with sweat and stuck to her skin – the result of the heat, thick with humidity from the precipitation of the prior evening.

Similar to the bowmen on the ramparts bordering the city, two guards dressed in leather armor with orange and white tabards waited beside the gate.

“Hold.” The older of the two guards tilted his spear to block the door. The man had a scar on one cheek, cutting a white path through his dark beard – a lonely valley where hair refused to grow. “What business do you have in the Citadel?”

Cal shared his usual friendly smile. “I must meet with King Tallinor regarding an urgent matter.”

“Sorry, but the king won’t be seeing anyone today. Come back tomorrow at sunrise to add your name to the list of petitioners.”

Cal turned toward Lyra. “Tali, these men appear to be having a bad day. Perhaps a little song will make them feel better.”

Lyra nodded, understanding Cal’s intent. After setting the floating pack down, she stood on the strap to keep the pack in place while she pulled the lute strap over her head.

“We’ve no time for this.” The guard’s green eyes reflected the anger in his voice. “Now, off with you.”

Ignoring him, Lyra began to play. The expression on the man’s face softened as the enchantment took hold. A minute later, Cal and Lyra thanked the two men and entered the castle walls.

Cal crossed the square before the entrance, circling around the bubbling fountain at the center. As he strode up the stairs, a man emerged from the open doors at the top.

Matching Cal in height, the man had an even thinner frame, his fine golden vest fitting him perfectly while complementing his white tunic, black breeches, and black riding boots. The man paused, his focus shifting from Lyra to Cal as he cast a doubtful expression.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Cal stopped two stairs from the top. “Hello, good sir. I’m here on most urgent business, and I must speak with the king immediately.”

The man grunted while stroking his graying black goatee. His gaze landed on the sword at Cal’s hip, and his brow furrowed.

“I’d like to know how you got in here while armed. Visitors are not allowed to possess weapons within the castle grounds.”

Cal glanced at the sword and shrugged. “This sword is a gift of sorts, for one of the king’s men. I don’t know who yet. I haven’t met him.”

The man sighed. “My name is Hamilton Marx. I am King Tallinor’s advisor. I tire of your babble, and I suggest you offer a good explanation before I call the guards to arrest you.”

Cal glanced around, obviously ensuring that nobody else was nearby. He took two steps to reach the top of the stairs and leaned toward the man, who instinctively leaned backward, appearing nervous.

“The Ministry is planning something, and I must warn the king,” Cal whispered. “I have a plan to stop them, but I require help.”

Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a revolution, not just against King Tallinor, but against the rulers of the other kingdoms as well.”

Hamilton grunted. “And if this were true, who are you that you might know of such a thing?”

“My name is Pascal. Pascal Fallbrandt.”

King Tallinor was a tall man and broad of shoulder. His doublet was unlaced to the middle of his chest with brown curls poking through the laces as he paced his private chambers. Lyra’s gaze shifted from the man with the crown to the open window overlooking the harbor. The white sails of two ships, bright in the mid-day sun, drew her attention as they headed out of the bay, one angling north while the other turned south.

“If I am to believe what you’re telling me, this is indeed dire news.” Tallinor stared at Cal, visibly assessing him. His gaze then shifted to the other man in the room. “What are your thoughts, Ham?”

The man who had escorted them to the king nodded. The guards who had accompanied him remained outside the door, along with Lyra’s dagger. Hamilton held Cal’s sword in both hands, his knuckles white as they gripped the scabbard.

“If this man is who he says he is, my agents confirm that his access to the Ministry Council might expose him to their secrets. If he is who he says he is, I suggest we heed his warning and consider supporting his plan.” Hamilton stared at Cal, measuring him. “His story is outlandish to say the least. However, if what he says is true, a direct confrontation with their force would be suicide.”

Tallinor frowned. “You know that I find duplicity distasteful.”

Hamilton nodded. “Yes, Sire. I’m aware. Unfortunately, I don’t make the rules. I merely play the game as it unfolds. In this case, a bit of deception and a fair amount of guile would be the best option.”

Tallinor turned toward Cal, his gaze examining him from head to toe. “How do we know that this man is who he claims?”

Hamilton nodded. “That is the question, Sire. If we can clear up his identity, our path becomes clear.”

Cal nodded. “Very well. If you’ve heard of me, I assume you’re aware of my abilities.”

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